


An Ocean the Size of Space

by Eve6262



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Really sentimental, Slow Build, Syo and Toko shown at the same time, focused around Toko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9643649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eve6262/pseuds/Eve6262
Summary: "Toko Fukawa, after much deliberation, we have decided that your rank in Future Foundation..."..."Shall be terminated immediately. You have twenty-four hours to leave the building with all your belongings."--Toko is forced into a new life. One that, this time, has no supporting figure but herself.





	1. The Rain That Started It All

That particular day ended up pouring, even if it started out fine. Toko watched the weather, having nothing better to do, as the day progressed. She watched the grey clouds roll in the night before; she watched the drizzle come in as Kyoko came into her office with the news she had nothing to do today; she watched as that drizzle turned into a generally unsurprising, uninteresting simple rain of medium-sized droplets as Makoto came into her office wanting to know where the detective went; she watched as the drops turned to practical cups that made up a drenching downpour when Kyoko came into her office requesting her presence.

The lavender-haired girl led her along with Aoi, of whom just kept repeating “this isn’t right, this isn’t right, they can’t do this, this is terrible,” or something along those lines over and over again. It almost seemed to taunt the rain even more, simply asking it to make the weather worse and worse. Personally, Toko had nothing against rain, seeing as she stayed inside a lot; it simply gave her a bad feeling with how many times she’d used the rain at the beginning of a chapter as a warning that said chapter was filled with something depressing. It was, so to speak, part of her writer’s instinct.

The elevator gave a quiet ding as it reached the top floor and the group stepped out into a meeting room, filled with heads of the multiple branches. A few looked smug, some expressionless, and only the maid Chisa looked even remotely remorseful. Kyoko left the girl’s side and sat down, her own expression one void of emotion. Toko, however, knew the lavender-haired girl very well, and could tell when something was wrong. Specifically, she was thumbing her personal notebook, a sign of unrest. Kyosuke spoke.

    “Toko Fukawa. After much deliberation, we have decided that your rank in Future Foundation…”

    She said nothing, but gave the beginning of the sentence some thought. Finally, she was getting her official status as a Future Foundation member. She was somewhat surprised this was happening, even if she’d been waiting for it, seeing as she’d skimped out on her duties much too many times. Perhaps this was what planted the seed of doubt in her mind; perhaps it was Kyoko’s nervous movements, or Aoi’s angered mutterings. Her eyes darted to the windows. Rain. Pouring, terrible, depressing, humid but cold rain.

    “Shall be terminated immediately. You have twenty-four hours to leave the buildings with all your belongings.” 

    Both Chisa and Kyoko looked to her for a response, along with the few smug members. Surprising them all, she muttered a quick “Alright.” and left them in peace. Chisa looked completely stunned, while Kyoko held a still but still obviously surprised expression; the smug ones were much more surprised, however, some even angered. Sakakura, she believed his name was, almost got up to seemingly punch her in the face before she quickly turned around and made her way back to the elevator.

    The ding of the elevator reverberated in the empty metal box as she stood, deep in thought. It wasn’t surprising. Perhaps she should have been a bit more distraught about the decision, angry that Syo had cost her a place in this new world, but she was none of those things. She was, in fact, quite the opposite, and took the news quite well. She always understood that her place in the world was not one of solicitude, but one of solitude; her reason to exist was not her own, but a combined effort between her and someone else.

    Perhaps that was unfair, but that would be calling life itself unfair. Such childish thoughts were worth no time.

    Instead, the elevator gave a noise resembling a bell once again, and Toko stepped off into the residential floor of the building. She could hear angered footsteps easily defined as Aoi’s running down the staircase and made her way back to her own room, careful not to run but not to go slow enough that the girl caught up with her. With ease she slipped into the small door frame and locked the door behind her, sighing once she did. Now, she had valuable time to think.

    The consequences of this were dire. No more going no missions with Byakuya; no more seeing him at all, really, except on worldwide Future Foundation broadcasts of hope. She wondered what it was like to experience those as she quickly took inventory of her room, figuring out what was necessary and what wasn’t. The extra sets of custom scissors were if she wanted a reference; the on the desk was Future Foundation property but the much cheaper one in the drawer wasn’t and was completely necessary if she wanted to keep sane (not that she was), a second set of clothes, an umbrella, and a notebook and fountain pen.

    Still, nothing lasted forever, and this little paradise had lasted a bit too long. It was time for a bittersweet end.

    Hoisting herself up from having bent down to reach the bottom drawer, she did a personal inventory. She had everything mandatory, and it was light enough to carry with one arm. Satisfied, she unlocked and opened the door, only to find all her fellow classmates there, all with varying degrees of emotion displayed on her face. Without any hesitation, the swimmer of the group spoke first. She seemed to be the most angry; Toko wondered if she knew how terribly different her face seemed from the truth.

“Toko! You cannot seriously be leaving.” Hagakure seemed calm; for what reason Toko could not fathom. “Calm down. She’s not going anywhere with that little.” Both girls didn’t seem satisfied by that, and for good reason; both of them knew how little Toko considered important of her own belongings, especially with what little she had in the first place. “Are you sure? Because that’s pretty much everything she owns. Except the notebooks. And the books themselves.” Deciding this little crowd was simply wasting time, she attempted to push through them. Kyoko refused to oblige.

“Not until you tell us where you’re going.” Toko thought about it for a second before responding, although her somewhat offended tone still remained. “I d-don’t know.” Stunning them all, she quickly attempted her best to leave. Byakuya’s words stopped her in her tracks for only a moment, a reply nonexistent in her mind. “Hmph. Anyone wanting to find such trash is trash themselves.”

    Maybe it was her imagination giving her one last favor before the vast open space of destruction and downpour, but it seemed like there was a twinge of what she called liar’s voice in his words. It just didn’t seem right.

    Still, she kept moving.

    Down the elevator, to the front desk, say nothing to the clerk who already knew where she was going by the fact that she held clothes in her arms, open the umbrella, and step out into the rain. Toko walked at a brisk pace and looked for somewhere to wait until the rain stopped, her survival instincts that proved useless so long ago now honed to perfection with a mere train of thought. Nothing seemed suitable until a clearly abandoned block of debris about three miles or so away from the building she’d just left seemingly formed the perfect little shelter. Not wanting to stay out in the rain any longer, she dove under the concrete ceiling, so to speak.

    Closing the umbrella helped the writer take a second to think. What, exactly, would she do next? Mindlessly roam the streets? Make this little outcropping her new home? It was nice, she had to admit, but it was a bit too large for her liking, and too close to Future Foundation. She didn’t like being so close to her old life. It reminded her of how close Hope’s Peak was to her old hometown, and all the bad memories one would expect such a battered and abused girl to have. 

    Finally feeling the weight of the situation on her shoulders, she slumped down onto the ground below her with a plop, the slightly damp fabric of the girl’s ripped and tattered sailor’s dress impatiently sticking onto the smooth floor. Apparently, the building she now sat at had a marble floor before the Tragedy. It was a nice touch, but ruined by the fact that water always seemed to be especially attracted to getting marble floors wet with rainwater. 

    Deciding the rain might calm her down, the orchid-haired girl closed her eyes and almost let the sound of the rain help her drift off to sleep before remembering where she was. A small alcove protected by a seemingly heavy but possibly mobile piece of rubble caught her eye. She picked up the supplies next to her and tried to move the piece of rubble. Once with the supplies in one arm was clearly not enough; a second time proved useless, but the third time, ironically, did the charm. Clambering in, she pulled back the cover as best she could, leaving only a sliver of light.

    Now satisfied that she was as safe as she could be, Toko closed her eyes and let the drenching downpour bring with it the peaceful embrace of sleep.


	2. Dust in the Wind

Toko, somewhat amazingly having not turned into Syo, woke to the sound of nothingness, and largely darkness. For a single moment the writer trembled with fear until she remembered where she was, and saw the crack of light she’d let in. Noticing this, she quickly calmed down and attempted to move the cover aside. The first time it didn’t budge; the second time worked like a charm, and she quickly stepped out of her little alcove to see her new world. 

Nothing tall stood yet but apartment buildings and little shops just low enough to stay erect, the rest all reduced to piles on top of piles of grey rubble. They all looked back at her with a feeling of indifference, as though they had yet to judge her of anything. Dusty skies seemed to bleed red, the atmosphere clogged from all the pollution thick in the air. The ground was barely anything but cheap dirt roads; if anything, Toko herself seemed in slightly better condition than her surroundings.

An idea, apparently, struck her like lightning, and in a flash she was taking out her computer, opening it up, powering it on, and typing at an astonishing rate. Grand tales of the abyss of an apocalypse filled the electronic pages from sunrise, when she woke, to midday when she realized she had no way to get electricity, even though she did remember to stuff the charger in her pocket at the last minute.

Sighing, the orchid-haired saved the document and closed the laptop. If only there was some way to generate electricity. She knew the methods, of course; whether they were applicable was something else. Picking up all her things, Toko thought about her options. Hotels and the like most likely had the power lines rerouted to Future Foundation if they weren’t already completely broken, but there might be some generator with spare parts somewhere.

This was going to be a long trip.

Deciding nothing would get done if she just sat there and lamented her obvious eventual demise, the pale girl started the long trek to the nearest erect building she could find. Less than a minute passed, and she quickly found the walk to be absolutely and utterly boring. The stale air and soundless winds made for nothing more interesting than a dust bunny; the blood-red skies were pretty but would soon get boring. She needed something to think about before she went insane over this boredom.

In less than a second her memory brought up an old writing prompt she would use whenever she hit writer’s block. “After months of planning, you and two of your friends pull off a major scam and steal $10 million dollars from a Vegas Casino. Your tracks are completely covered, there's no way they can track it to you guys and you've escaped to a far away country. While you lay in your bed, dreaming…” Sentences describing Toko and two of her characters popped into her head at once; the words flowed with grace, the scene unfolding on a white background of black text. 

Had she not limited resources, she would write all this down. It was nice to get it out of her head for once, after all. However, time and materials were short, and she soon got to the building in the middle of the climax. She abruptly ended the dream and the story, entering the old hotel. It was clearly more than the little something she’d thought it was by all the rubble.

Scratched faded lime wallpaper decorated any intact wall possible, while a virtually undisturbed, if dusty, rich red carpet decorated the floor. A beautifully finished mahogany desk sat to the right of the entrance, its small storage of food and water not going unnoticed by Toko. Tables made of that same expensive material held crystal vases filled with only the most beautiful flower arrangements, real and still blooming. It was, in other words, in practically pristine condition. 

This wasn’t a good place to be.

Just as Toko was about to leave, a voice called out to her. “Oh? Who’re you?” Cautiously she turned around to see a man with a miltary knife in his hand. His eyes were dulled with the memories of battle, giving him experience Toko did not want anything to do with. She sputtered out a response. “J-Just a p-p-passerby who’s g-gonna leave n-now.” Her stutter was a bit worse, mostly due to the pressure she was under. The man flipped the knife in his hand.

“You sure about that?” Her surprise indicated her unpreparedness and he lunged at the writer, his attack just well enough choreographed by the still wind that she managed to dodge it. He gave a little grin. “You still have some fight in you? Then let’s dance.” Three more attacks were dodged before Toko decided she had no choice but to fight back. He had her pinned against the desk; there was no getting out of this.

Without thinking she dropped her belongings on the table and pulled out a pair of scissors just in time to deflect his blow. The knife went spinning to the other side of the room, its owner’s eyes flying wide open. He immediately went for it, only for the orchid-haired girl to lunge at him, plunging the scissors into his with, surprisingly, the grace of a swan. 

The man’s body went limp in her arms in only a second; surprised and somewhat shocked at her own actions, she let him fall as she covered her mouth. The vile taste of vomit pushed at the back of her throat, making her want to throw up. The man’s dead corpse, bleeding profusely on the ground, didn’t help a thing. Within seconds she was vomiting her lunch out into a small wastebasket she’d seen in the corner; even if society was broken, a place as good as this was something not to be disturbed.

Disgusted with herself she quickly put the wastebasket outside, planning to deal with it later. No other sounds could be heart in the place, and since she really did need that power outlet, Toko begrudgingly picked up her things and started the trek to the seemingly dark basement. “Might as well go through with what I’ve already started…” Her voice was no louder than a small mutter, and to anyone else it would have seem like she vanished into the darkness with those words.

The basement was dark, but not pitch black. Aware of both this and her fear of the dark, the writer proceeded into the unknown. It was clear this place had electricity; how else were the fluorescent lightbulbs that blessed her with sight powered? The black walls made the place no less inviting, nor the annoyingly soft sounds her steps made against the carpet. She was actually quite comforted by the presence of her own footsteps; it helped to reassure her that this was, indeed, not a dream. 

She quickly stumbled across a locked door with what looked to be a dead raven pinned to the door. Annoyed, she looked around the room for something but could see nothing that would allow her to enter this strange door. She put her things down on a table and thought. Where had she seen such a thing before? It was strangely familiar, so she had seen it before, of this she was sure; where was a mystery.

Deciding such a strange door must have an obvious key, and that she would have seen it on the man’s body, the orchid-haired girl kept exploring, using the phone she’d forgotten in her pocket as a light. It had been a little heavier and less showy, she thought as she looked for something that reminded her of both a raven and a key, and it was her own, so she decided it wasn’t necessary to try and drop it off to Future Foundation. She’d found a way to eliminate the connection, so they couldn’t track her, and it was barely useful for anything but light.

Finally, she stumbled against something that looked nothing like a key, but did have a bunch of crow feathers glued on. Picking it up proved it was quite heavy; it took two hands to hold comfortably. Instead deciding to hold it in her arms to keep her light going, Toko quickly moved back into the dim lighting of the overhead as she turned off her phone and shoved it back into her pocket, happy to have a constant light source again.

Approaching the door and inspecting the sigil proved there to be an indentation she hadn’t noticed beforehand. The key, if it could be called that, perfectly slotted in and turned by itself, almost scaring the poor girl witless. The door opened with a deafening creak, and so she opened it quickly and only enough for her to move through. She’d learned by now that opening doors like that worked better if you did it faster- the noise didn’t sound out as long.

It proved fruitless, however, to try and preserve the silence; as soon as she opened the door a large humming sound could be heard within the room. Peering inside proved it to be the generator, with little room for anything else; in other words, there was no room for any surprise attacks. Satisfied with her find, Toko stepped into the room and surveyed the area before deciding on what to do.

The walls were black with oil stains and asphalt, the floor no different from its companions. The generator was the only thing other than a small metal table, of which held only a wrench. The generator itself, green and dusty grey in color, took up almost the entire room, its massive presence making one think they must be in a factory. It was apparently one of the newly invented types sold only to rich companies, working on a nuclear reactor with a formula not unlike that which keeps the sun going.

Happy she’d found an unlimited source of power (with a few tweaks, but she’d learned that from Syo’s messing around) that she could use. She’d have to defend it, but that was okay; she liked the atmosphere down here as well as the building above, and it wasn’t very close to Future Foundation, so she thought it was pretty much perfect. She’d have to get rid of the man, yes, but she was sure that would work out. All would be well in the end. Plus, the district seemed fairly unraided, and the man’s full supply of food and drink had apparently been down in the basement, where tons of it (relatively, at least) was stocked.

Deciding it was now or never, Toko trudged back up the stairs to find nothing changed with the surface world while she was away. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, readying herself for the ordeal. She walked somewhat slowly towards the body, grabbed the hand, and started pulling. It was surprisingly easy, and the writer wondered if this was how light a dead body was supposed to be. Surely an entire person must have been much heavier?

Still, she didn’t dare open her eyes. She’d probably vomit again. Instead, she waited until the sounds changed from carpet to asphalt, then turned and went as far as she could without getting lost. Walking ahead of the dead body, she opened her right eye just a sliver. Happy she couldn’t see any of the blood, seeing as the man’s wound had been dried by the time she got to the surface, she walked somewhat joyously towards her new home.


	3. Peace Never Lasts Long

Toko arrived back at the little hotel to find everything how she’d left it, save for a pool of bright pink blood. Staring at it for a second, she felt as though she might throw up from the sight of it and instantly turned away. The girl walked away walked as quick as she could, which was perhaps a bad idea, seeing as her quicker walking involved accidental dragging on the carpet. The dust clouds gathered around her and before she could even voice her concern she sneezed, making her entire world go blank.

 

\--

 

Syo awoke to strange surroundings, to say the least. The thick air told her she was outside, and the strangely damp feeling told her a storm had just passed the other day. The quiet, almost inaudible whirring of a generator resounded in her ears, causing her to wonder exactly where she would be that would have a generator. She certainly didn’t think Future Foundation’s generator sounded like this; besides, it was in an entirely different place.

Screwing her eyes closed, Syo tried to remember. They didn’t share memories, but if she tried hard enough, she could usually pull out a hazy line or two from the hibernating girl’s memories. This time, however, was strange; the words she needed to hear came without hesitation, and within a second of thinking. There had to be a reason, but at that moment the serial killer didn’t quite feel like thinking.

They got banned from Future Foundation. That was the important part. They got banned from Master Byakuya, and from safety, and from sanction. They were banned from supplies that could keep them alive and partially sane, and would now have to scavenge. Toko, specifically, would be a pain in the sense that she could barely defend herself. This was the worst outcome Syo’d seen coming in her worst nightmares.

Not that she had any.

Clicking her overly long tongue, Syo looked around. A pool of bright pink told her Toko managed to kill someone, and the faint trail only she could see. Without hesitation she moved the rest of the carpet so it all faced the same way, covering the tracks left there. A quick peer out the remnants of a glass door left her unsurprised to the dead body and trash can filled with vomit not too far away. Satisfied the kill was covered up enough to the point that Toko wouldn’t scare herself to death once she woke again, Syo turned on her heel to take a good look at her surroundings.

The faded lime wallpaper was torn in more than a few places, covering the walls wherever possible. The carpet should have been a beautiful rich red, were it not for the dust covering it. Supplies that probably used to belong to the man were stashed in the mahogany desk, the same material making up small tables with crystal vases. Seeing as she was a serial killer, not a florist, she couldn’t name all the flowers, but they looked real enough and water still filled their bases.

Had she not seen the dead body outside, she would have left on the double.

Remembering her instincts, she looked up. The ceiling was fairly solid, looking from both inside and out. Large piece of rubble propped it up to just the right angle where a tiny amount of sunshine could be seen in the building, but it was otherwise protected from outside view. The stairs up were crashed at the second level, but a similar piece of rubble covered its top as well, the only difference being the slit of light was not present in the half-made stairwell.

The stairs down, on the other hand, looked somewhat newly tred, and had Syo not recognized it as her own body’s footprints she would have been wary, to say the least. Without caution or concern she lept down the stairs, landing on her feet at the bottom as per usual. Her sharp, almost catlike eyes surveyed the surroundings with little need for light, making the dim fluorescent lights nothing more than a waste.

The place looked to be a mechanic’s, yet was a bit too clean. A nice blue carpet clung to the floor and a lovely shade of light blue seemed recently painted on the walls. The tools were organized, and the serial killer could easily recognize Toko’s belongings haphazardly placed on the edge of a table. Annoyed, she once again clicked the overly long tongue in her mouth and set to work organizing it and the tools. 

It didn’t take long to organize everything, and when it was over, it was almost as satisfying as yelling at boys about harassing the girl she considered her little sister. Toko never knew, of course; then again, having a serial killer split personality as an older sister would be a little weird. Still, just as an older sibling does for a younger one, she protected the poor girl from bullies and the like. It almost always pained her to feel Toko crying against a wall and know she couldn’t do a thing but take over and let her have the tears fade without the sailor fuku she always wore getting wet. She was annoying, yes, but little siblings were always annoying.

Deciding not to think of such morbid things, Syo continued her exploration.

A single door stood in the room, its front covered in a dead crow. Joking to herself about how Toko must’ve hated the sight of the thing she looked at the lock, hoping it wasn’t going to need a bit of time to come undone. Surprisingly, there was none, however, the door itself stood slightly ajar, most likely from Toko having opened it. Still, there must have been a way to lock the door in the first place. Annoyed, Syo searched for such a thing.

Finally, after much too long passed and she found a strange blocky black metal thing with crow feathers in her pocket, she realized what it was. Just above the crow was a small indent, perfectly shaped to fit what now could be described as a key in her hands. Smirking at the realization, the serial killer talked to herself as she put it back in her pocket. “Well, isn’t that a mystery...No way you guys survived.”

In the amazingly complicated to open door was a tiny room. The green and faded, dusty grey machine that resembled a generator caught her eye. The sound had grown louder; this must be what she’d heard earlier. Looking it over only proved even more luck- it was a nuclear generator, of which were, in all technicality, not released. However, at this point, no one cared, seeing as getting your hands on one meant you had a power source that was practically guaranteed to stay working forever. Even if it didn’t, fixing one was common knowledge in the wasteland.

Syo was utterly confused. How did Toko manage to both kill a person and stumble across a place this nice? Why didn’t she leave at the first sign of human life in the place? Everything seemed like a twisted puzzle, specifically made to look like a double helix only to confused whoever decided to lay eyes upon it. It was utterly strange, and that wasn’t even the half of it. After all, Syo knew exactly who made those types of doors

Still, she didn’t think she was quite ready to have such a thing become an issue. She’d keep quiet for now.

Sighing, the orchid-haired serial killer leaned against one of the slick black walls. What looked like oil proved to be exactly the opposite-black marble. It was strange to have such a thing be true to some people, but it was common knowledge to others. Where was the smell of mechanical instruments in the air, if it was oil?

Syo was stressed, to say the least. A million different thoughts, observations, and theories ran through her head, each vying for her attention. She screwed her eyes shut and attempted to focus before realizing she had nothing to focus on. A sigh led her to her answer- her own body. Focus on Toko. Focus on what her practical sister and her need. Food and water were fine for the time being, but it would be nice to have something else.

Standing up, the serial killer left the building in record time, knowing exactly what she needed. It was a simple task to slimb the rubble, and as she stood atop the collapsed concrete she surveyed the area. Within seconds she found what she was looking for, and in mint condition, too. Smiling, she proceeded towards her target, hoping it already hadn’t been raided. Most likely, no one would want everything in a clothing store, after all.

Entering the store proved her hypothesis to be true. Most everything was left, save for a few fabrics that were probably taken as extra bandage. Everything had a large layer of dust and rubble, yes, but Syo was pretty good and leaving dust undisturbed except for what she needed. She prowled around the store, taking what she thought could serve as first-aid and what she thought would look nice. The sailor fuku they both wore was getting old, and it was time to change it up, she thought.

A beautiful blue fabric, not too shimmery but clearly not stiff cotton, caught her eye. As she approached it it became clear it was silk, and very expensive before the Tragedy, the small tag above it pricing it at about two hundred dollars. Smirking, Syo took the fabric in hand and looked for another, seeing if there was something nice.

It wasn’t long before she stumbled across a few needles and thread. Those were also taken with her, as well as a piece of black fabric she thought would be nice on a dress or for the background of some kind of accessory. Finally, just as she was about to leave, a small pink plastic flower caught her eye. It had been cheap, yes, but it was nice quality; to be fair, this was a very high-end store, having its cheapest items at a prestigious twenty-five dollars just for a few needles. 

The rose had a black plating on the bottom, making it easy to sew onto something. The material didn’t feel like plastic, more like clay, but softer than such. It was a strange feeling, but it was a nice feeling, so she took it and finally left, seeing as the day was short. It was, after all, technically autumn. While perhaps the climate and atmosphere and all had been destroyed, the earth still tilted on an axis. The days shortened and lengthened based on the seasons still, even if it didn’t affect much.

Thankfully, she got to their new “home” somewhat soon and decided to drop off her stuff. Just as she was about to rest she remembered why she’d gotten the stuff in the first place and placed a note on it, have a pen on her already and finding a piece of scrap paper on the desk. “I got this for a new dress. Don’t start it until we agree on something. -Syo”

Satisfied, the serial killer curled up in the corner and lulled herself to sleep with thoughts of the stars and the comfort of the carpeting beneath her.


	4. Revolver

 

    Morning came too quick for Syo, and her body needlessly woke her up just as the sun started to rise. A long yawn escaped her lungs as she stood up, mostly due to her habit of not waking early, but being ready to go the second she did wake up. Just to make sure, she searched for the phone she’d noticed was usually shoved in her pocket and found it; happy with her newfound discovery, she checked the date. March 3rd.

    That date seemed familiar, and not just in the sense that it was the day she’d expected (and maybe hoped, but she would never admit that) to come up. It took her a few seconds to remember, although once she did it was a bit impressive, seeing as the person it was important to didn’t even remember it herself. No, Toko probably forgot about that a long time ago, and never bothered to remember, but today was her twentieth birthday.

    Satisfied with her newfound revelation, Syo hummed as she skipped out the door. Her eyes darted to the dust on the floor, already forming a plan. She’d get Toko a birthday present-what that was would only be determined when something suitable showed itself- then kick up a bit of dust so she’d end up sneezing and turning into Toko, who’d see the present. It was all a perfect plan, except for the whole what to get her part, but she’d figure that out...well, now.

    A map formed in her head she didn’t even know she had, but was thankful for. Before the Tragedy, apparently, there’d been a bookstore over to her right and a street up, a high-end gaming store exactly two streets ahead, and an internet cafe down to her left. Each had different appeals; the bookstore was the kind you’d expect to carry pens and notebooks, which would of course be the boring but still fair gift; the gaming store could possibly hold some old PC games to stave off boredom, which would certainly be the most out-there gift to give but one that required a bit of thought; the internet cafe was the middle version of the two in which it wasn’t quite off-the-wall to get some nice teas and coffee and a water heater but it wasn’t quite the most boring thing.

    Although she wasn’t one for being mild on anything, Syo had to admit that the cafe sounded the best. The games she wouldn’t even know where to begin with and could easily mess up as well as have it cause problems. The bookstore was almost completely out of the question with how purely boring it was of a choice.

    Deciding that the tea and coffee sounded like the best option, the serial killer set off for what was hopefully a slightly intact internet cafe. It, from memory she didn’t remember having, was fairly short of a building, and so shouldn’t have collapsed too easily. Even if the roof was caved in or anything, it didn’t matter much; she was looking for a present, not a place to stay. Still, as she walked down the decrepit old roads, she couldn’t help but wonder if the thing was still standing.

    It was strange, the walk. The air felt a bit more stuffy than before, as though one could slice through it with a butter knife. The dusty rubble on the sides of the streets and sometimes in the middle stared back at her with more contempt than indifference, as though hating her for her actions. The black asphalt roads were almost suffocating, as though one big black hole stretched out underneath these decorations gently balanced on its surface.

    If this wasn’t as important as Syo thought it, she would’ve turned back in half a second.

    Instead, she headed forward, letting her thoughts drown out everything but the most primal instincts of a natural-born killer. The orchid-haired girl’s eyes darted back and forth somewhat shiftily; her hands twitched as she thought, her mind itself filled with thoughts of reminisce. It was sad, being out here in this deserted wasteland, but moreso leaving behind what had been. Toko had always taken such things better than her; perhaps it was a facet of her personality created simply to have flaws.

    Change was never kind to her. Togami, for example, had been the one boy she’d been excited to kill, having hated rich boys’ snobby attitude. She knew there’d be one day when Toko, as usual, was betrayed by him and truly lost all hope in pursuing him, and in that moment she would strike. That was her role in life, as a personality created by trauma- protect the one who brought her into this world from experiencing a ton more of it.

    Sadly, as another personality, all she could do was help Toko from the sidelines. It was, in her opinion, a pitiful existence.

    Still, it was one of importance, and she decided upon this as she reached that small cafe. As expected, it was in less than stellar but better than decimated condition. The walls were almost perfectly intact due to its extremely small statue; the roof, however, could not be said to be the same. The two taller buildings next to it collapsed mercilessly onto the less sturdy concrete surface, breaking it in two. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad if you knew how to navigate such complex structures.

    Climbing over the rubble was no difficult task; neither was taking a couple packages of tea and coffee, along with a small water heater. It was almost worryingly easy, and it had Syo on edge. Never before had her instinct been wrong, and she wasn’t about to brush it off just because nothing had happened just yet. Still guarding herself with all her will, she clambered over the rubble and back to the street when the source of her worry called out.

    “Hm? Ooh…” A woman probably in her mid-twenties stepped out from an alleyway covered in a rubble roof between two mid-height buildings. The short bob that touched her shoulders was hazelnut brown, matching her eyes quite well. A long, red bodycon dress hugged her hips a bit too much to be just for flexibility, along with red high heels. Her lips were a painted red, and her voice smooth; perhaps, however, it was mostly the revolver hidden behind her back that had the girl worried.

    “Ah, you’re that girl.” Syo didn’t think twice before placing the water heater, tea and coffee inside, in a small alcove in the rubble and taking a step towards the woman. She laughed, an action that probably would have attracted anyone who wasn’t quite as prepared as a serial killer. “Now, now, honey. You really think I;m after you? Oh, no, little ol’ me would never. EVER. Do that.” The glint in her eyes told her otherwise, betraying her true emotion.

    “Really? Then what ARE you after?” Her smile should have been infectiously happy; instead, it was comparable to the cold smile a sadist gives during torture. “Oh..Just giving giving spoiled brats like you lesson.” She spat the word “brats” out like it was some kind of venom. Syo tried her best to remedy the situation before the woman inevitably pulled some dirty trick practically out of her ass. “Who said I’M the spoiled brat, huh? I think someone like Togami fits that better.”

    The infectious smile turned into an angry smile that could convince any straight man to kill for it. “Oh, my. You misunderstand. No, I don’t mean like that. I mean, you think you’re all that because you work with Future Foundation. Well, guess what you’re not?” Her smile returned; Syo’s insides churned with anticipation of the woman’s next move. “Special.” The woman was running towards her, and was easily dodged in those high heels; too easy, in fact.

    “See you in hell, bitch!” The woman kicked up a cloud of dust from the rubble in the store; before she even knew what was happening, Syo sneezed, making her whole world go black.

 

\--

 

    Toko “awoke” to probably the strangest scene one could ever wake up to. Unfamiliar asphalt streets spread to her right and left, all surrounded by partially decimated sidewalk. She stood in front of a short storefront, of which had its walls almost perfectly intact but a collapsed roof from the surrounding rubble. More importantly, however, a woman stood in front of her, and judging by the revolver now pointed at her, it wasn’t meant for hunting.

    “Now then, let’s get to business, shall we, honey?” Honey was probably more accurate a term for how her voice sounded; sickly sweet and smooth. Her hazelnut hair was styled in a short bob that brushed against her shoulders, a color that matched her eyes own to the exact shade. Her long red bodycon dress gave away a bit too much cleavage and ended  much to close to the most annoying spot at the elbows to be just for easy movement; her high heels were the dead giveaway she was the dystopian version of a prostitute, or at least a former one.

    “You’ll be a good little girl and stay still while I shoot you, ‘mkay?” Something that had been nagging at the back of Toko’s mind now came to the front in full force, but she couldn’t decipher the message. It was strange, and gave her a headache, which she simply added to the list of annoying things that had taken place just now. The woman’s should-have-been enticing smile turned into even more of a serial killer’s glare as she gave her lines.

    “That’s a good girl. Bye-bye, now.” Before the revolver rang out, a voice called to her. How it reached her, she wasn’t sure; it sounded more like a whisper of the wind than anything else. She wasn’t sure from where, or how, or why, but judging by the fact that the woman had virtually no reaction, it couldn’t have been more than a hallucination. Still, its message seemed important, and its voice a vaguely familiar tone she just couldn’t quite put down, so she followed its order. Which, in retrospect, was pretty simple.

    “Move to the right the second before she shoots. She’ll miss.”

    The woman scowled. “Playing hard-to-get, huh? Whatever.” Smirking, the woman made her way to Toko, still holding her revolver. Unlike the last time, flashbacks of the battle not too long ago pushed themselves to the forefront of her mind and she froze up. Yet, somehow, the voice managed to get her out of it, whispering to her again. “Defend yourself. She’ll try to bludgeon you on the head. Duck under that and stab her in the heart. Use the scissors."

    Toko did as she was told by the mysterious voice. Pink bloomed from the wound as the woman’s eyes unfocused, the pain overwhelming her entire body. “Wh-Wh…” Looking down, it was clear the writer had just realized what she’d done. Her eyes were screwed shut once again, a defense she’d been using quite a bit recently. The woman gave a chuckle. “Th-This is how I end...T-To a spoiled b-brat...Hah...HAHA!”

    A crazed smile enveloped the woman. Using the last of her strength, she pulled herself out of the knife, stumbling down and onto the ground. She looked as though she meant to say something more, however, couldn’t get a word in before the lack of blood flow brought her a peaceful slumber that would last an eternity. Taking a deep breath, Toko was about to leave when she spotted a small water heater in an alcove of the rubble in the storefront. An overwhelming desire to pick it up led her over; she was truly confused when the voice spoke again, this time much quieter than the others.

    “Happy birthday.”


	5. The Clock Will Tick

Toko whirled around, finally realizing what hearing a voice meant. Either she was going crazy, or someone had to be there. It as surprising that the woman hadn’t heard it, but it still had a certain air of reality to it. She doubted she was going crazy, although it was an admittedly realistic possibility. Those whispers were not a figment of her imagination; they had to be and most certainly were from a physically present person’s mouth. 

Still, it was somewhat hard to believe that when no one appeared visible. There were no small bugs that could hold a speaker or microphone on her, this she knew, seeing as Syo destroyed any she could find the moment she awoke. There was something about having your every word recorded, or having a voice that wouldn’t shut up in your ear, that made the psychopath go completely crazy, which perhaps was a bit redundant but entirely true.

Deciding the voice could not have been anything more than her imagination, the writer picked up her new birthday present, according to the voice, and headed off, only realizing later that it being her birthday meant a day had passed. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she headed down to the collapsed rubble’s right side of the asphalt road, hoping the building she could see in the distance was indeed her new home. She’d half hoped the voice would tell her which way to go, which met with, sadly, silence.

The black asphalt stared back at her in a sort of wonder, its strange cleanliness save for a bit of dust from the rubble making it look like an abyss. Grey rocks and plates of concrete looked on without a care in the world, as it only interested in her when in a different situation. A red sky of dawn stared back when she looked up, as though giving the unanimous message that she would inevitably die out in the “wilderness” of the wasteland.

“I’m not dying out here.” The message was not particularly directed at anyone, and no one in particular heard it. Even its speaker only trudged along, half ignoring her own words. Mainly, her thoughts decided to roam back to the door in the basement. Come to think of it, why had the door been so strangely mysterious? Surely no one had a particular use for a crow-locked door other than to be creepy. Only video games pulled things like that, and even they had a reason- it wasn’t real.

Even if it did have a purpose, Toko had absolutely no clue what that purpose might be, so she instead walked along, attempting to think of much happier thoughts. Another writing prompt popped in her head, and she let her eyes close as she did her best to write characters in her head; from strong-willed girls with a soft spot for sweets to old men who had nothing better to do than become computer whizzes, all were easy to write in her eyes, even when trying to describe that all-too-fluffy sweet lolita clothing.

It wasn’t long before she arrived back at her new home, having opened her eyes at just the right moment to realize where she was. Deciding she’d make a nice cup of tea in celebration of her new present, the girl grabbed a water bottle from the many that now laid at the entrance as bait- Toko was well aware of the irony of doing exactly what the man did before her- and headed to the basement once again, both to start charging her laptop and to start making some tea.

Upon arrival it was simple to notice a few changes. For one, and most importantly, a pile of cloth and a little plastic rose sat on one of the tables, along with a note. It took a second to adjust her eyes to the dim lighting, but when she managed the note was easy to read, her alter ego having picked up on most of her practiced handwriting. “I got this for a new dress. Don’t start it until we agree on something. -Syo.” The door to the generator was a bit more open, and the stuff on the desk with the dress had been slightly rearranged to make space, but otherwise everything was the same.

Deciding she’d leave the dress for another time or until Syo proposed an idea, Toko fished the charger out of her pocket and plugged it into a socket, of which there were a few many to be normal. Plugging it into the laptop proved her theory about the generator working, even if it wasn’t much of a theory, and so she moved over to a socket by the floor and sat down, her body tired from endeavors some of which she couldn’t remember. 

Plugging in the water heater and pouring in the common liquid was simple enough; waiting was the hard part. Sighing, she forced herself to get up and get her notebook, the pen constantly on her person being inventoried without any effort. The only sound that filled the room as she walked back to her spot, albeit slowly, was the scratching of a pen against paper as ideas flowed from her mind to the paper in front of her; tales of a beautiful land plunged into chaos from a serial killer filled countless pages until the click of the water heater scared her out of her mind.

The water was audibly boiling, and it was as Toko searched she realized she had nothing to put the tea in. Annoyed, she almost left the room when a small cupboard above a sink caught her eye. Of course it made sense the man had supplies before; judging by the aboveground storage, below ground had to have something of note. Opening it up served her purpose; an expensive tea set lay before her, although she only needed a cup and saucer. Taking one out, she was sure to note its blue engravings and detailed markings as hand-made, indicating just how expensive it would’ve been before the Tragedy. In a building like this, however, it made sense to be there.

A small amount of tea leaves was placed into the cup before the boiling hot water, sure to kill anything that might infect her that rested beforehand. A short second passed before Toko quickly headed back to the cupboard to grab a small teaspoon, having forgotten to get one. The design on the spoon was just as elegant and clearly hand-crafted; sadly, it was also clear it came from the hotel, giving her no insight as to the reason for the crow door.

A few seconds of stirring proved to be enough for flavor to soak the water and vice versa, seeing as these were quite expensive. It made sense so many nearby places were expensive; Future Foundation had built their headquarters in a very pricey area, and the surrounding area was quite large. Perhaps she was far enough away to feel fine about her current locale, but the high-quality nature of everything around her stayed the same. 

Still, as she sipped the tea she couldn’t help but think about how amazing it tasted compared to the usual store-brand tea bags she’d use, or instant coffee. Both were disgusting in their own right, but also had a sense of futility, as though they had no choice but to be terrible for their price range. That, or Toko was just looking into things a bit too much, which was, in all fairness, something she did much too often.

Tea brought back memories, which was perhaps an important aspect of her enjoyment. Drinking tea brought back memories of the now long-gone Byakuya Togami, who abused her to no end, yet was still the object of her affection. Countless times, Kyoko had been extremely worried the heir was doing something terribly wrong with her, or that she’d been broken a little too badly, but each time Toko simply shrugged it off with the excuse of “I’m alright.”

It was and wasn’t true; it was true in the sense that Kyoko meant, and in that was not quite a lie, but in other aspects there was no way to call her “fine” without lying. For example, the slowly closing box of inevitability that seemed to get tighter around her chest every day, alway repeating the same thing about the same person- “He doesn’t love you and he never will.” She tried to ignore it, she really did, but there would one day be a time where she could no longer do so, and in that moment she would most certainly collapse, and let Syo take over for her.

Sometimes, like in times of an almost inescapable pressure, she was glad for Syo. Syo both protected her and hurt her, but for all intents and purposes it seemed like the serial killer meant well. Yet, sometimes, Syo did something utterly regrettable, and in those moments Toko was more than disgusted with her second personality. In times of hardship, it was all she could do to simply excuse her life as a preventative measure against Syo, although sometimes she couldn’t tell whether she was glad for her companion or not.

At times like this, she was bordering on furious. There wasn’t much she could do, so it didn’t quite look it, but if she was able to yell at her other self, take a stab at her other self, even attempt to murder her other self, she would. It was her other self that caused this, and while there wasn’t much she could do about it, it was still angering. The fact that Syo caused her pain due to nothing of her own fault angered her; the only way to calm herself down was obvious lines of logic, usually centering around maturity as some type of goal.

This moment, particularly, had her reasoning that Syo herself could be deemed immature, and because she was immature, others had to take responsibility for her actions. It wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t fair people took such a heavy load in more ways than one, and that was basically what it was like. If anything, it was even more taxing on her, as Syo was something she could not control and that could happen on a daily basis.

Still, she’d once taken a vow that she’d never blame Syo for much; it was, after all, a responsibility shoved onto her, and only a completely worthless person would crush under just one responsibility.

The tea was over quite quickly, and without thinking Toko returned to her notebook, picking up the pen and continuing where she’d left off. The sound of paper scratching on pen, as well as the ever-so-quiet humming of the generator served as a well-deserved lullaby. The story drifted on as her consciousness did the opposite, her penmanship becoming quicker and sloppier as she worried more about readability in general than neatness. Finally, she fell asleep, comforted by the notion that no one could find her in this basement without trouble.

“Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there used to be something here....now there's just a link: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/
> 
> That's all bye now
> 
> ~Eve6262


	6. Muted Conversation

 

Drowsy orchid eyes looked upon black walls as they fluttered open, Toko’s drowsy nature becoming apparent from late sleeping from due dates and early risings at Future Foundation for breakfast. Mind half shrouded in sort of haze, a memory of a voice before sleep hit surfaced and was disregarded in favor of more productive thoughts. Get up, get something to eat, set up some counter-attack measures for invaders. Maybe the last two at the same time.

The counter-attack measures were easy. Syo would’ve awoken due to her instincts (she had proof of this) if someone had at this point invaded, but she didn’t like the thought of having no control if Future Foundation tried to explore or a few members got lost and found her little outpost. Grumbling, she got up and made her way upstairs.

In front of her was all the supplies she’d seen the day she entered, bringing back memories of the man. Shuddering, she moved it all so it was barely visible, with only a few containers on the back shelf. The walls were all either perfectly intact or covered in open spots with rubble, so that was no problem. What was a problem was the entrance, and she had an idea for that. Grabbing a pack of cookies, she set off for the building next to her.

Her surroundings hadn’t particularly changed since she’d last been out, but the timing had. The moon shone bright in the blood-red sky, but the darkness that always seemed to envelop the land was even more powerful at night. Still, white stars shining through the bloody skies felt somehow serene; the buildings and rubble against the black background of an absence of light felt contemplative yet.

The building next to the hotel had not met such fortune as its neighbor. Dusty grey was only to be seen for about a floor and a half, all of it broken pieces of rubble. Apparently it’d been a skyscraper of some sort, as the rubble pieces were especially small, small enough that someone like Toko could probably carry them with little to no trouble. Dust covered every part of it, but if she was careful moving them to the entrance could make for a makeshift “door.” 

Giving a single sigh, she set to work. She started with the pieces that had fallen to the street and lay strewn about and a seemingly patternless arrangement, so as not to disturb the strange structure formed by the remains in front of her. After the first three pieces she found no rubble seemed to give her even a bit of trouble, due to Syo’s work and her own obsessive writing giving her muscles she didn’t even know she had.

She was on her sixth piece of rubble when a voice called out to her from seemingly nowhere, yet at the same time everywhere. “Hey.” Startled, she nearly dropped the current piece she’d been carrying; had it not been a particularly light one, she most likely would not have been able to carry it. “Wh-Who said that?!” Looking around wildly, the silence she was met with told her no living being had said such a thing. Confused, she got back to work, assuming no one was there.

“It’s me.” Again she froze up, although this time not dropping the concrete. Her look around had already told her of the absence of anyone in the nearby vicinity; instead, she decided to look to her memory to find something of note. Other than the most recent occasion, two specific events popped into her mind- the brown-haired prostitute incident, and the night before. Deciding to test a theory, she responded to the voice not with words, but with thoughts.

“And who is “me?”” Calmly and without giving it much thought, Toko continued to pile on the broken pieces of a former building, whatever it might have been. This time, the voice responded much more quickly. “You know who I am.” Puzzled, the orchid-haired girl tried her best to see if she could remember who the voice in her head was, but to no avail. She was about to question it again when the pieces linked with a set of logic she hadn’t yet even thought was possible.

If the voice could talk to her in her head, it was undoubtedly something she’d made up or something that generally coexisted with her in her mind. The only thing that could possibly exist in the same body and still not have killed itself was Syo.

“You’re….her.” A feeling of affirmation washed over her, presumably the other personality’s response.Seemingly endless waves of anger flowed through her as she gave her response. A loud crash sounded out as she turned back to the collapsed ruins. “Why do you always make my life worse?! First you have to start killing, putting stress on me, then you have to get me away from Master Byakuya, and NOW you’re making me go crazy!”

Her mindscape stayed silent for an excruciating moment; the sound of concrete, as a result, was even louder in her ears. Finally, her alter ego complied. “...I’m sorry.” Trying to calm herself down, Toko gave her most courteous wording toward the voice in her head, her lip moving to the side in an annoyed gesture as she spoke, as though Syo could see such a thing and react to it. “I apologize, but I’m afraid “sorry” barely begins to break the surface of the barrier that divides intent and action.”

Perhaps if the killer’s character was not one made by the writer herself, she would have been stunned, scared even, at her careful word choice. However, seeing as this was, in the end, a figment of her thoughts, the made-up serial killer who cared only to protect the one she shared a body with dubbed “Syo” responded. “I know, but...intent’s the best I can do.” A single tear welled up in her eyes as Toko kept working. The hard cookie’s crack was much more audible than the girl intended, but at the moment she didn’t care.

“Syo” pleaded. “Please. Just...think about it.” Biting the inside of her mouth, Toko decided that thinking about it was the mature way around the situation, and that was the route she would take. Syo, as she knew well from the therapist’s pleads, was just a “figment of her imagination that had control.” Because of this, she would never want to hurt her creator, but tried her best to help; besides, it wasn’t the other personality’s fault she existed. It was Toko’s.

“Fine...I guess.” The other “girl” was relieved, and extremely happy. Having finally “noticed” the task Toko was working on, the other girl offered a suggestion. “How about I take care of that?” Again trying to think rationally, the orchid-haired writer thought. If Syo could talk to her, it reasoned that Toko could also attempt to talk to Syo when she was in charge; as such, it seemed not like a bad idea. “Sure.”

Toko intentionally took one of the more wedged pieces of concrete, moving the dust and didn’t attempt to stop the oncoming sneeze as the sense of being pushed back overwhelmed her, as per usual. Yet, something about this time seemed different, even as the world faded to black.

 

\--

 

Syo didn’t quite awaken at this moment, seeing as she knew it was coming. Her vision was no longer a screen a black, yes, but she was also quite alert just before. It was strange, yet, as she started piling on the debris, it didn’t seem quite off. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was like opening one’s eyes after a long dream that made it seem like opening your eyes was almost a crime, and certainly required too much effort on one’s part.

“So...Um…” Toko’s voice echoed clearly in her mind, and somehow it didn’t seem as strange as the wave of confusion she got as a response the first time she tried to talk to her creator. “Anything specific you want to talk about?” Having learned from Toko, she thought, she didn’t quite speak her answers out loud, rather than think them. She figured that, at least, seeing as she didn’t really have a specific way of telling. 

“I’m sorry. For, um, that outburst.” Smiling without realizing it, Syo answered, hoping her current joy came to the writer in waves just as the true personality’s own emotions had washed over her. “It’s no problem! I’m technically not anything, so you know. It’s alright.” Slight hesitation laced the answer she got, making her both will it away hesitate as she moved to grab another piece of black-laced concrete.

“You know….y-you should be able to i-identify as your own person. I-It’s not fair I’m h-holding you back. I h-hated you holding me b-back, so I shouldn’t d-do the same.” Her stutter wasn’t something physical rather than a response to stressful situations on her part, so it came back in full force. Putting down the concrete, as well as realizing the job was done, Syo looked out to the skyline before her, if it could be called that.

A shaded red, she’d remembered an artist crush once saying before their demise, coveted its current possession of the sky, much less excited for daybreak than some of its onlookers. Still, black outlined the buildings, slight reflection off their sides making them look as though a beautiful painting. White stars and a beautifully detailed moon still cluttered the sky, as though it was all a pretty painting.

“Do you think?” The truth gave it some thought before responding. “I think so. You have a personality and goals, so you’re a person, right?” The lie stared up at the dirty white moon in the sky, wondering just how accurate that statement was. “But isn’t there something more to becoming a person?” The truth once again spoke, not even taking a second to think, as it reminisced upon the stars in the beautiful night sky. “I don’t think so. That’s all people are- characters with goals.”

The lie stared up at its beautiful painting, never wanting this viewing at the gallery to end. “But people have something that characters don’t, don’t they?” The truth remembered the way the buildings outfitted the sky so well, its pollution still beautiful in its own right. “They lack creativity. They’re all the same.” The lie loved the way the sky outfitted the buildings so well, their immaculate details and perfected shading lifelike in its own right. “No, not creativity. Freedom. They do whatever they want. Characters in a book do what the book says they do, what their character says they do.”

“And don’t normal people?”

“No, their character is always changing, whether it’s an important moment in the story or not.”

“Really?”

“Maybe.”

“..Maybe.”

Syo hopped off the rubble and went back into the bottom the hotel and curled in the corner, finding nothing else better to do.


	7. The Raven's Tale

    Syo awoke to an incessant knocking on the previously fashioned front “door,” her annoyance at the sound clear. Whether the person turned an enemy or a friend, she’d end up having to send them away; whether it was their dead body or their confused stumbling mindset, both would end up farther from their destination than they’d intended. Breathing out a sigh, the serial killer stood up and made her way up to the front entrance, instinctively hopping from shadow to shadow during her strides.

    Yawning, she closed a single eye and looked through a small slit she’d put in the door as a peephole, the glasses that were constantly shoved tight upon her face making the task slightly more troublesome. A man in a mask one would expect to come from the Middle Ages was, long beak and all, was standing at the front, looking around for any sign of his apparent contact. A large staff undeniably holding a sword and perhaps a gun stood to his side, discarded upon the rubble. Raven feathers coated his jacket, with a bit too much of a realistic quality to be fake.

    Scowling, the killer ducked directly under the rubble, thinking over her options. Toko hadn’t yet woken, so to speak; Syo could easily take the man out and hide him before Toko rose. Biting the inside of her lip, the girl pushed over one of the pieces of rubble, her hand automatically going under her skirt to fetch one of her scissors. The man was surprised, but stupidly took no action to pick it back up; he was too confused as to what even happened. A cold-blooded killer by nature, Syo darted for his neck the moment he looked up.

    “Wha-” He managed to fumble back, the precise movements calculated by the girl still slightly coated in a thin layer of sleep. Standing up straight and shaking her head, the serial killer regained full consciousness as the man attempted to run for his staff; within a half second, he’d gone from determined and running to a pile of meat on the cleaver’s knife. Blood seeped out of the wound and down the fragile latex that made up his outfit, and for only a moment Syo what the reaction between blood and latex was before finding out there apparently was none.

    The body fell off the polished scissors easily, their silver gleam now stained in red. Putting away her weapon, Syo hoisted the man over her shoulder and proceeded to start moving when he spoke again.

    “The...generator…”

    Scowling, Syo let him continue, wanting to know where this was going. If they had stayed the same, these ravens and their little society of sorts was worth keeping an eye on. “Need...Reactor…” As far as Syo could remember, that had indeed been their last goal- stealing reactors from generators all over. Why on earth they hadn’t already taken it she couldn’t fathom, except for perhaps that dead man that previously inhabited was a lookout and not someone they could waste on manual labor. Figuring that was it, she dumped the figure in a small crevice in some rubble the few buildings away she’d walked.

    “Have fun rotting in crow hell or whatever.” As she left, she could swear she head him croak the word “raven” before dying, although it was also true she was a complete psychopath who could develop schizophrenia at any given moment. Still, no voices were consistently whispering, so she took it as the raven man’s word and was about to leave when she looked back, remembering the dress.

    With ease and grace she leapt back up to where she’d dumped him and considered taking the mask. Acting like the reaper sounded fun; making people think she was someone she wasn’t while at the same time protecting Toko was even more so. Having made up her mind, she swiftly reached around the man’s head and unclipped the latch, taking the bird mask off. Underneath was a boy, no older than twelve years old, with messy black hair. His eyes were still open, brown orbs still filled with terror and realization that he didn’t ever want to die, but that he just wanted a place to belong in. His skin was pale, as though hours in that stuffy costume had turned it into a worse sun bleach than the star could ever do.

    Syo was past mourning for young deaths by the time Toko’s eleven-year-old crush betrayed her.

    The walk back was quick, but thoughtful. A few different designs swirled around in Syo’s head, each with their own downsides and benefits. Specifically, three were in the running: a dress like their current but with new materials, which would leave them easily recognizable but would be the most familiar; a long mermaid-style dress, which would be different and Toko would love but would most likely constrict movement; and the one she was currently most partial to, a swing dress with a nice choker made from the rose she’d picked up. It allowed for movement and was a very pretty design in both her and Toko’s opinions.

    “...Huh…?” The quiet words let Syo know that Toko had indeed woken up, and thankfully not too soon. She wasn’t used to waking up and being unable to see anything; neither of them were, per say, but Syo thought she’d be able to deal with it better, hopefully. “Morning, Toko.” It was truly morning at the time; Syo hadn’t quite took the time to think about it, but judging by the light, it had to have been. Curious, she looked up at the skyline.

    The fainted hues of orange and pink were left untouched by the constant blood red sky, a small portion of the still blinding sun peeking out from behind rubble and shorter buildings. Dim light came through at small intervals in seemingly random patterns, each with its own ray of almost angelic light. Shadows cast onto the sidewalk were like something out of a movie or drawing, with the asphalt the abyss of hell next to it.

    If someone were to ask her what the scene looked like, she’d undoubtedly say the kind of beautiful oil painting that Toko belonged in, whether she realized it or not.

    “Oh...You’re still in charge?” Deciding she could put the outfit off for another day, Syo replied. “You can take over, I don’t mind.” While aware Toko was easily able to fake emotion when it was needed, as a writer, the feelings that the two shared told the serial killer her companion was truthful. “Yeah, if you don’t mind…” As willing and as truthful as she stated, Syo steered herself toward a pile of rubble and kicked the group, sending a cloud of dust into the air. She sneezed as soon as it came down to her.

 

\--

 

    Toko shook her head, the fake illusion of drowsiness having carried over to her current state. Taking inventory and wondering what had happened when Syo was awake, she looked herself over and was confused to find a mask extremely similar to a reaper’s in Medieval Age culture. Wondering where such a priceless relic of ancient history, whether real or fake, had come from, she inquired.

    “Where’d you get the mask?” She turned to the left, having spotted the building they holed up in. Syo had a very relaxed disposition about most things; Toko could sense the tension in her mind, as though her state of mind was a rope pulled taught. “I killed a guy. Apparently he was supposed to come for the generator. Had raven wings on. Guess he was from that weird door thing.” Just as Toko was about to give it up, something in the back of her mind nagged at her to keep pursuing. The other half of her brain, the writing and predictive part, told her Syo was most definitely lying.

    “You know something.” Sighing, the serial killer explained.

    “They come from this organization that was trying to do some messed up stuff in the past. Everyone except themselves were against them. I guess I just assumed they’re not as powerful anymore, since they used to have members even in high ranking government.”

    “Oh, so they were one of THOSE groups.” approaching the old building, Toko noticed the door was still open and quickly sealed it once again as soon as she could, and of course in the building. Sighing, she sat on the desk and noticed just how heavy her eyelids were. The red of the carpet seemed almost intoxicating, as though it was a nice red velvet she could Her dulled thinking process decided this was true; without thinking and with little protest from Syo, she curled up on the soft material and took a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of ending this book what do you guys think


	8. Like a Sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to end this but supportive comments so it's staying

    It was just past midnight when Toko awoke, faded wallpaper the first thing apart from plush, dusty red carpet that met her eyes. Yawning, she closed her eyes without getting up or laying back down, considering her options. Her options were few in number, yet still nothing to sneeze at compared to the freedom allotted to her in Future Foundation’s grasp. She had her pick of writing, exploration (which, being a natural introvert, wasn’t an option she was fond of), or working on the dress.

    As soon as she decided she opened her eyes, wanting to write. It had been a while, and while it wasn’t the type of job or even hobby that took over her life, it was certainly a large portion of it. Like a lot of her peers, writing was synonymous with a form of escape, as well as a method of keeping at least moderately sane. Her somewhat bored eyes peered into the slight darkness as she hopped down the steps to the basement, somewhat getting tired of the dull scenery.

    She approached her computer, the dull sound of humming could be heard from the wall to her right. The somewhat pitiful writer unplugged the powerful device and opened it up, being greeted with the company logo of whoever made the expensive laptop. Before the system’s login message, however, a blue box asking her to enter her password opened up. This was the result of a virus she’d accidentally installed once; although she wasn’t exactly at a tech support level, she knew a bit more than basic computer knowledge (as deemed by the general public, not a tech support nerd).

    Entering the weak but pointless password of “headphones,” the basic Windows welcome message opened up, along with an image and her profile. Stretching, she entered her password which, some would consider miraculously, did not contain anything to do with her white knight. Rather, it was something most wouldn’t get- “DanganRonpa,” or “bullet refute,” to put it simply. It reminded her of the trials, and while she never did like participating in them, a small part of her still wished for those times.

    The small white loading circle displayed for a bit too long of a silence to go without something happening.

    “Mornin’.” Syo’s voice almost caught her off guard; thankfully, she was the perfect combination of somewhat awake but also drowsy to register what was happening.

    “Morning.” Syo gave a yawn, and probably would have stretched if she could. “What’cha doing?”

    The home screen finally booted up, a picture of one of her favorite songs the background. She doubled clicked on the icon named “Focuswriter.” “Writing.”

    “I’ll watch, so to speak.”

    “Alright. Tell me if you see a mistake.”

    “Gotcha.”

    The program opened up, displaying the story she’d written earlier, when she was despairing much more than at the moment. She closed the tab and the computer automatically opened a new document for her; placing her hands on the keyboard in the appropriate places, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander, wondering what kind of landscape would form before her this time. She was willing to do some writer’s block exercises if it came down to it, but she figured her imagination must have come up with something, with how long it had been since she’d wrote.

    A single gear formed in her mind, then a few more, and in what seemed like a matter of seconds an entire workshop had been formed. Streets lines with paved roads and women in old victorian outfits decorated with gears and all shades of brown formed like threads being crossed over one another, with buildings constructed in halves of seconds in their gaps. Men with similarly fashioned clothing filled bars and the apothecary down a street; a woman dressed in a clothing style highly reminiscent of steampunk lolita ran a large workshop halfway to the west.

   “Whoa…”  
  
    Syo’s word echoed through the both of them as Toko wrote, her hands just barely tapping the letters before moving onto their next destination. Every now and again she would slip up, hit backspace a few times, then keep writing as though nothing ever happened. New lines and indents were just part of the stride, although parts where she had to walk past a rock or a tree root in the ground. What was for sure was that her hands never stopped, although that was not what stunned the serial killer to silence.

    “Everything’s so beautiful…”

    Deciding it was fine to strike up a conversation with her permanent companion, Toko spoke as she wrote, her eyes and core thought process still focused on the story. “You’ve never seen it?”

    “I was always like you. Never had access to anything but emotion from you.”

    “I didn’t even have that.”

    “Okay, a little more open.”

    “Hm.”

    As though it never happened, Toko went back to writing, her mind filling in the plot to write down in perfect detail. The girl from the workshop left said shop to get some chemicals from the apothecary, which was both a legal business and a shady black market dealer of poisons and chemicals useful to other illegals- namely, “gas” for arsonists. It was not quite gasoline, yet it was still highly flammable, and left less of a mark on its “victim.”

    Having gotten there, the somewhat adventurous clerk handed her a small vial filled with deadly toxin, its structure mainly made of arsenic, but with a few more chemicals for added effect. Smiling much more gently than the smirking man, the girl handed him a small leather bag, filled with three machines needed in creating and maintaining the different chemicals as requested by the main scientist in the back.

    “I wish I could write like you…”

    Toko once again decided to strike up a conversation as the girl headed towards the workshop.

    “You can, with practice.”

    The turn at the corner almost had her bumping into a policeman, but she swiftly avoided it.

    “No, I don’t think so. This stuff comes with talent.”

    A policeman was unlikely to bother a twenty-three year old rather than the old man selling drugs just past her, of course.

    “Everyone can get good at something, as long as you just try.”

    Stella turned into her workshop and let her hand slip into her bag, feeling the small container.

    “No, not really. Not me and writing, at least.”

    The wooden door closed behind her, a puff of steam showing through the large glass pipe of the mechanism.

    “Sure you can. Plenty of terrible writers get published.”

    The vial was quickly poured into a small machine in the corner she was “working on,” before anyone could possibly notice anything.

    “Yeah, but their stuff isn’t quality.”

    Smiling, Stella let herself walk into her own private office, where she took a moment to relax.

    “Well, maybe not, but I’m sure I can give you tips. You don’t have to reach my standard.”

    The encounter with the policeman had put a touch too much stress upon her shoulders to go without a break.

    “I know, but still…”

    Toko’s hands stopped, devoting her thoughts to the conversation with Syo.

    “Oh, come on. You can definitely do it.

    “Yeah right...Besides, I’m the one who’s supposed to be yelling at you for staying inside for so long. What kind of example am I going to set for you if I start up writing?”

    “Okay, miss Serial Killer.”

    “Because you aren’t head over heels for a guy that abuses you.”

    “You did not bring that up.”

    “I did.”

    “This was a terrible idea.”

    “Was not.”

    “Was too.”

    “You’re really resorting to a childish argument between siblings?”

    “You started it.”

    “No, you started it.”

    “Now who’s starting a childish argument.”

    “Because you’re any better.”

    “I don’t kill people for a living, so yes, I AM better.”

    “Says who?”

    “Says society.”

    “Yes, because society doesn’t also think lowly of you.”

    “But I’m not a mass murderer.”

    “Hey, I’m not Hitler. We don’t even look alike.”

    Huffing, Toko pushed the laptop aside. “Fine. That took a while, and this argument is tiring me out. I’ll take a nap, then you get to do whatever. Except get us killed. Don’t do that.”

    Laughing somewhat less maniacally then usual, Syo replied. “Alright. Deal, I won’t get us killed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing really happens in this chapter but I planned this book to be a massive Toko character study and I felt like it moved a too fast for that and that it was becoming a made-up fantasy Toko rather than actual Toko so that's the other reason I was thinking I'd end it.


End file.
